


Useless

by Firgolfin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hope, Post Trespasser, Trespasser DLC, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firgolfin/pseuds/Firgolfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Inquisition will change after this," he's said to her, not knowing what this words would truly mean for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useless

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers ahead** , so maybe you don't want to read this if you haven't finished Trespasser yet. :)

*****

 

*****

 

"I'm useless," she whispers, voice raspy and broken, and her eyes, always so vivid, are blunt and red, swollen from days of crying. They are dry now, as if there were no more tears left in her, and she's staring into the void.

"So _fucking_ useless."

"No, _no_... love, you know this isn't true." But the truth is that Cullen feels useless as well. He lifts his hand to cup her chin, gently, carefully, but she turns her head away, she flees from his touch, and an almost inaudible, trembling sigh rises from her chest.

It hurts, desperation threatens to overwhelm him, and he swallows hard, trying to blink away his own tears. Relief, thankfulness, happiness about her survival, it's all replaced by pain and sorrow as he has to see her, his love– _his wife_ –in such grief.

He doesn't know what else to say. Doesn't know how to help her, how to ease her pain. So he just sits with her, day by day, listening to her and holding her whenever she allows it. Her arm–what's left of it–is healing well, but she has barely left her chambers since they've returned to Skyhold. Returned _home_ , but it will never be the same again. _The Inquisition will change after this_ , he's said to her just a few weeks before, not even imagining what this words would truly mean for them.

Now, all he can do is giving her assurance that he's there for her, that he loves her, no matter what, _until the end of his days_ , and he does, but he doesn't tell her that she's still whole for him, that her arm means nothing to him, nothing compared to her life. This isn't what she wants to hear. This isn't what she _needs_.

And he understands her pain, of course he does. She's been a fighter her whole life, just like himself. Now her swords are stored, hidden from her sight; _get them out of here_ , she's screamed in anger as they've unpacked her travel bags. She's always loved being outside on the field, solving problems with her own _hands_ , damn it, but diplomatic matters have never brought her pleasure, and even if they had–she can't write anymore.

She's been left-handed.

"Shit." Just this, a single curse, leaving his lips in a trembling whisper, and somehow it catches her attention. She turns her head towards him, eyes blinking and tears forming again, and the bluntness fades, if only for a moment, replaced by emotions, and her eyes are vivid again. There is sadness in them, but also, _love_.

"Yes. _Shit_ ," she answers, the smallest lopsided smile runs over her face, and he has hope again.

She'll heal. She always does. She's strong. She'll learn to use her other hand.

But then she looks away, _fades away_ , and so does his hope as her eyes are emptying once more.

She's so broken. No... she can't, she can't be broken. _Oh Maker, help us, tell me, what can I do?_ He runs his hands through his hair and prays, and hopes, and _thinks_.

And then there is... something. It's just an idea, scratching at the back of his head, slowly taking form now. But he doesn't know if it's possible, if there is any chance at all, so he can't tell her about it, not yet. He has to know first. He has to know _now_.

"Love, I have to go. But I'll be back soon." He leans over to kiss her forehead softly, and he's somewhat relieved that, this time, she doesn't move away from him, "alright?"

"Alright," she leans back, sinking deeply into the huge bed, closing her eyes, and he knows that she tries to flee back into sleep, into merciful oblivion.

It's hard to see her like this and even harder to leave her alone. But he smiles at her, then forces himself to get up and as soon as he's left her room, he all but runs down the stairs, heading towards the undercroft. Searching for the one who might help. _If_ anyone might, then it's her.

"Dagna," he calls breathlessly as he rushes into the vault, and it takes all of his willpower to stay calm instead of grabbing her, shaking her as his heart pounds in sudden excitement.

"I need your help. _Please._ "

 

 

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by several thoughts, posts and discussions about the Inquisitor getting a new arm, and who could make that possible, if not Dagna. :)


End file.
